


The Old Brag of my Heart

by Saturnmond



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Armitage Hux is a Jerk, Both of them are pompous assholes, Bottom Armitage Hux, But they need each other to vent, Creepy Snoke (Star Wars), Dirty Talk, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Letters, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Pen Pals, Strangers to Lovers, Suicide Attempt, Top Kylo Ren, Will get more explicit in later chapters, mentions of attempted murder, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-04 22:28:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18352991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saturnmond/pseuds/Saturnmond
Summary: Neither Armitage Hux nor Ben Solo really wanted a pen pal. It feels almost ridiculously cruel to demand they relay every horrible detail of their lives to a complete stranger. Despising each other's guts seems to be the only acceptable option to avoid honesty. That is until they realise that there is only one way to survive: and that is to find meaning fast.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter consists of a series of letters, depicting the development of their relationship. From the second chapter onwards, the fic will be written in a more traditional prose style. Later chapters will be more explicit as well.

**12th of March.**  
To whomever it may concern,  
as you are hopefully aware, I am the writing partner assigned to you via the “VisitINK the World Pen Pal Association”. Despite my frequent expressions of disdain for such a waste of time, I have been encouraged to enter the program in the hopes of bettering my situation. It will come to no surprise to you that I have complied with the recommendations and am therefore now bound to you – for better or for worse. However, I instantly regretted my decision. Why would anyone want to expel their brain cells talking to a stranger about nothing once a week? If I had wanted to be idle all day, I would have become a nursery school teacher.

Regardless of my protests, I was informed that my withdrawal from the program would only be accepted after they found a suitable replacement. I must begrudgingly admit to the fault of agreeing in the first place, so I won’t abandon my responsibility until you are set up with another person. I presume it must be someone who wants to get in touch with their inner fourth grader. Apparently, everyone believes that I have nothing better to do than this. Excuse me if I sound bitter, I promise it is because I don’t want to be in contact with you.  
I cannot help but imagine you as painfully childish for wanting to do all of this in the first place. Aren’t pen pal programs for children, or adults who have no plans to treat their severe symptoms of arrested development? So, there is the extent of entertainment I am willing and able to provide you with. I do not enjoy it very much and nor will you, I reckon.

I henceforth, respectfully ask you to hasten the process of finding someone else and maybe, if possible, resist the urge to send a reply at all.  
Sincerely, #82124.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**20th of March**

Hi Hux,

You’re a little bit of an asshole, aren’t you? That’s fine by me, I wasn’t too wild about entering this program either. Or maybe I wasn’t before I knew what an absolute nitwit you are. You stuff words into your letter until it’s filled to the brim – like a pillow – and still manage to say nothing at all. You’re empty. But it will be quite a bit of fun seeing you struggle to share anything with anyone for weeks on end. I will absolutely demand that you stay my pen pal for this program. Since you’re all about responsibility, there won’t be any risk of you abandoning your commitment, right? If you do, I’ll suspect it’s because you can’t think of something interesting to say and can’t admit it –which would be quite childish, wouldn’t it, Hux?

I expect to hear from you next week.

Kylo Ren.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**24th of March**

Kylo Ren (this is not a name),

Before I even address your insolence, I demand you tell me how you gained access to my name! I was promised full anonymity through an alias of my choosing, so I suspect someone made an error and they must be held accountable.

Other than that, I am not surprised. People like you would be the one’s seeking human contact through pen pal programs like this. Have you ever thought about changing your attitude and leaving your pubescent insults behind? Maybe then you won’t have to rely on these letters to force someone else into talking to you! 

I will have you know that I am not impressed by your bravado and chose to stay in the program not because of your silly little provocation but out of my own volition. I am curious whether you can even hold a conversation at all. I presume there will be no issues in proving me wrong, “Ren”?

Since it is upon me to start, I am going to tell you about my environment. I am not entirely sure what you will gain out of it, but so be it. The weather is quite mild which serves me well. Outside, a woman is dragging her children up the driveway. They are making a fuss over their scratchy jumpers –I heard their whining and promptly remembered your letter in my drawer. The yellow wallpaper in my room is simply awful. The print is so hideous that I’d rather prefer staring at your letter instead. Speaking of which, who are you trying to impress with your overly complicated handwriting? It is almost as overblown as your phrasing. Also, impractical.

Sincerely,  
Hux.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**30th of March**

Hux,

I am surprised to hear back from you. Sure, you don’t feel provoked. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I scared you away with my last letter. Apparently, you’re a little more persistent than I gave you credit for. Like fungus. We’ll see how long it lasts.

Are you seriously asking how I found out about your name? Your little number scheme wasn’t all that difficult to figure out. It was either H U X or HBABD. The latter would have made you seem more interesting than you are, so this isn’t exactly false advertisement. You’re either a total dumbass or you believe everyone else is. It’s not a good look either way. 

If you don’t like your fucking wallpaper, why don’t you renovate your room instead of telling me about this stuff? There are people with real problems out there and you complain about bratty children and ugly interior design. I am reading this book about a chick who became a novelist because she can’t get over the fact that her sister’s boyfriend died because of her. That’s real. That is part of the actual human experience: a patchwork of suffering through which we blindly grasp for any meaning, any sense, any atonement. You can’t fix that with a fucking trip to Ikea. Think about it.

Kylo Ren.

Ps. It’s called Calligraphy. Look it up.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**3rd of April**

Ren, 

You probably feel really smart right now, don’t you? I don’t have time for this.

Hux.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**10th of April**

Hux,

Is there a reason for me not to? Don’t worry, I have plenty of time.  
Are you already done talking to me or will I be getting another glimpse into your fascinating opinions about decoration? Is there maybe a table bothering you? Hux, tell me. I just have to know.

Kylo Ren.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**14th of April**

Ren,

Fine. Before your letters get any more childish, I will adjust the length of my reports. 

The weather is getting warmer by the day. I have heard people are elated about this. Some of them are planning to go and eat their lunch on a park bench right outside the building. Looking at flowers and observing bees is probably all they need to be content. I can’t find any joy in these little entertainments. They don’t only seem like a useless waste of time, they’re almost obscene. Whenever someone comments on how the warmth creeps into their bones, I want to object. Such sentimental nonsense! How could looking at anything cause such excitement? I am starting to believe that people simply make that up. It’s the delight of the weak. They could be imprisoned in an attic and claim the little window would be enough. 

From your letter I gathered that you’re actually reading books? Didn’t think so when I looked at that dreadful pen name of yours. What else are you doing in your spare time besides being insufferable?

Hux.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**19th of April**

Hux,

So, you’re simply a misanthropist. Why didn’t you say so earlier?

People’s bullshit is also annoying to me. They’re always jabbering about some television show, squeezing together like chickens on the roost to get a glimpse of a fucking celebrity they like. I suppose you look for comfort anywhere you can, even if it is with someone you don’t know and probably won’t be able to stand once you do. That’s at least how it always has been for me. _The most terrible thing about it is not that it breaks one’s heart –hearts are made to be broken—but that it turns one’s heart to stone._ There is some truth to it, I suppose.

My pen name would sound better if you would stop butchering it! You’re lucky your name is already short and ugly, or else I’d let you know what that feels like. 

I am an artist, by the way. I paint for a living and I paint in my free time. At least I used to do that. Now I am not doing much of anything anymore. How do you earn your superiority complex, aside from nit-picking every single thing on this shithole of a planet?

Kylo Ren.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**23rd of April**

Ren (I am not wasting more ink on this nonsensical alias),

Of course, you’re an artist. And you quoted Oscar Wilde at me. Why am I not the least bit surprised?

I worried I would slip into melodrama with my little rant, but you quickly put my worries at ease by delivering the most pretentious monologue I have ever had to read. Nevertheless, I can’t deny that you’re essentially correct in your observations. People are, as you so eloquently put it, full of bullshit. The trick lies in staying on track and not letting yourself get distracted by their folly.  
So, are you going to tell me what your name means, or will I regret asking? If it originated in a fantasy book, please spare me.

I used to work for my father’s company. I kept the books in order, negotiated contracts and partnerships. I even managed to get a deal over 4.48 million dollars with a well-established sponsor. I suspect I have earned myself an onslaught of mockery now, didn’t I? Please, go ahead and laugh. Just don’t forget that you’re an unsuccessful artist who sells their crayon paintings to gullible fools with poor taste.

Hux.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**27th of April**

Hux,

You know that you can stop being such a fuckwit now, right? You’re a little pompous yourself, so I’d be a lot more careful if I were you. Your method of dealing with other people is useless, too.  
Not getting distracted is just a euphemism for letting people trample all over you. The best thing you can do to survive is to actively fight for it. But who am I telling this to? You work for your father’s company and juggle with millions of dollars before lunch. There is no way you even know what it means to feel mistreated, judged, let down. I suppose your daddy gifted you with every single fucking thing you ever wanted. Am I right, Hux?

Must be nice to be trusted. 

Kylo Ren.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**1st of May**

Ren,

You have no idea what you are talking about and you would do better to know your place.

Hux.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**4th May**

Hux,

Fuck. Alright, I shouldn’t have said that. Is that really enough for you to stop talking to me? If so, then getting you to give up is not much of a challenge. I know I am not always good at keeping my anger in check. I’ve always had issues with that. But it would be a hell of a lot easier if you weren’t such a jerk all the time. Maybe that’s your thing. I advise you to deal with that rather sooner than later: _“Every man has a devouring passion in his heart, as every fruit has its worm.”_ Here is another quote for you to make fun of.  
Come to think of it. Jesus, I don’t even know if you’re a man or a woman. I know basically nothing of you other than that you’re a pencil pusher who looks down on everyone else.

To answer your earlier question, I have gotten my name from a roleplay game I liked in my childhood. I know it’s fucking ridiculous so don’t even start. My character, Kylo Ren, made me feel stronger and more capable than I really was. He made me feel invincible. So, there’s info for you.

Ren. (See, I am even using your stupid version)

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**10th of May**

Kylo Ren,

I know my choice of words isn’t always the wisest and I agree I may have gone too far this time. That is exactly why I don’t know how in the world you’d think it’d be a good idea to tell me that your name stems from a “roleplay game”. Well, there have been worse transgressions and it isn’t so strange to imagine a more capable version of yourself. It’s something I liked to do as well. I was a rather sickly child? Here, now you have gotten a little bit of information about me, too. As I am feeling generous today, I will also reveal that I am a man. It is strange to think that we barely know each other’s gender, let alone anything else.

My lunch tasted awful today. They probably scraped the mould off before serving. I am used to restricting my diet and living as frugally as possible, but I would very much like one of these grotesque, American milkshakes right now.

Hux.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**16th of May**

Hux,  
Now you use my full name out of spite? I should have known.

So you are a guy! Being sickly as a child doesn’t mean a lot, but I can’t possibly imagine you’d be much stronger now. Especially after you said all of that stuff about restricting yourself. The human body needs nutrition and exercise. You can’t be some strange looking sad sack in an office chair. I drag myself out to the gym twice a day. Every day. No matter what. It helps with the need to punch holes into my fucking wall, too.

You like sweet stuff? You are honestly the most unpredictable idiot ever. I thought you’d be some kind of weirdo who stuffs himself with raw onions for the heck of it. There is no way I would let that garbage near me. I am talking about milkshakes. Raw onions are for sociopaths.  
I take it that you’re not “American” then, Hux? What exactly are you? 

Kylo Ren.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**21st of May**

Ren,

I see we have reached the stage where we want to ask each other intrusive questions about appearances. I must have overlooked the part where they told me this would be a dating program. Even though I don’t think there is any harm in sharing some information, you shouldn’t expect me to send photos of myself. How old are you even? You sound suspiciously juvenile!

You presumed correctly that I am not „American“. I was born in London- I moved to the States with my father when I was seventeen years old to help expand his company overseas. Although I have always had a special fondness for America, even as a child. I grew up on classic American movies. A colleague of my father had me over quite a bit and these films would run on loop on her old TV. Rebel without a Cause, Casablanca, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Some Like it Hot. When I was little, those where the stories that made me feel like I was more capable than I was. You could say, they were my personal “Kylo Ren”. It was probably just the forced happily ever after and the sickly-sweet romances turning my brain into useless mush.

Hux.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**26th of May**

Hux,

Relax a little, will you? I didn’t ask you to show me your dick, Jesus Christ. I only wanted to know if you’re a skinny little worm. Now I am pretty sure you must also be hideously ugly. I’m not judging. I know that I am also not much to look at. My ears stick out in weird places and my nose sits overly large in my face. So, I am not exactly crazy to show you a picture of myself either. If you change your mind, I wouldn’t say no to you sending me nudes, though. I don’t have anything better to look at. You can rest easy knowing wouldn’t even break the law. I am Twenty-Four.

Did you just tell me a really embarrassing detail about yourself? I think it’s sort of cute how you liked those romantic movies as a kid. Did you dream yourself into one of the characters? I always did that when I felt ignored by my parents. Always locked myself into my room and imagined myself as Kylo Ren, demanding to be loved. Is this something one can even ask for? Now that I am older, I wonder if forcing them to look at me would have felt even worse. I would have known how little they cared much sooner then. I wasn’t even a particularly horrible child. I was a little broody, had a lot of night terrors, too. Why am I even giving you ammunition to make fun of me? I am slowly losing my mind with loneliness. Your letters are the only thing I can look forward to, even if you are the world’s shittiest pen pal. Maybe that’s why we fit together so well?

Oh, just to let you know: Your little tangent about classic movies gave me the idea that you’re probably 67 years old. That’s okay too. I like daddies.

Ren.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**1st of June**

Ren,

Have you completely lost your mind? Why would you even want to flirt with me if you suspect me to be some old pervert? Twenty-Four is old enough to know better than to invite the wrong sort of attention! I presume from your words that you don’t have a girlfriend (boyfriend?). A taken man would never spew such nonsense to a practical stranger! Stop advertising yourself to me! If you were more than just a loud mouth, you would be the one sending me nude pictures of yourself!

Maybe I did imagine myself into these movies, maybe I didn’t. This is knowledge I will take to my grave. You could start by telling me what sort of figure this Kylo Ren even is, and I am starting by sharing that I am twenty-eight years old. Why ever this would be important for you to know.

Forcing someone to love you, I can’t imagine what that must feel like. Be glad you decided against it. I was also rather unfortunate with my parents, as it seems. Are you at least free of them now, or are you still stuck thinking about loving them all day? Even as I don’t know you, I can’t see you forgetting this sort of pain. You seem like a person who dwells on things until your eyes glaze over. Don’t do that.

Hux.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**6th of June**

Hux,

I see you’re trying to desperately flirt with me. If you’re asking if I am bisexual and single, the answer is yes.

Why would you think I was dwelling on it? It is over now. Even if I wanted to change anything about what happened, there’s nothing more I can do. I want to say that I can’t blame them, but I hate the way they always let things escalate. It feels like they raised me to be an open wound for the family to bleed out of. Huh, isn’t that a sentence you might like.  
I made terrible mistakes for which I must pay in one way or another. It just doesn’t feel right that I am the only one suffering all by himself. Am I not a product of their doing, too? Why is it that I have to be kept away in a neat little box while they go about their day, telling themselves that there was nothing to be done for their useless son? Do they believe I was born rotten? Is this why they never come and see me? I know you have no idea what I am talking about and I’m sorry…

Isn’t it really bad that you, a 64-year-old pervert pretending to be 28, understands me better than my own family ever did? History just might be repeating itself here.

What, now you want to know about Kylo Ren? Well, what the fuck why not. I invented him when I was eight years old. He’s a dark knight with a flaming sword and black armor. He would ride through the forests and over the paths of some imaginary land, saving people. Sometimes I used him to kill my schoolyard bullies by proxy. Whatever felt best at any given moment. I think the point was that he didn’t need anyone. He didn’t miss his family or resent the fact he didn’t have any friends. He certainly didn’t need a fucking Kylo Ren of his own, that’s for sure. 

I hope you’ll write back soon.

Ren.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**11th of June**

Ren,

First of all, Kylo Ren sounds like a poorly constructed character. I haven’t made the mistake of becoming a novelist, but I surely recognise that he would need some flaws. Let me help you with that: He is overly emotional, he likes to pity himself and he is way too trusting toward someone he himself deems a ruthless jerk. A little fascinating too. I never met a person so willing to bare their wounds. It’s almost embarrassing. 

I, myself, still don't know if it'd be wise to trust you so easily, yet I am running out of options. I am surrounded by people pressuring me to talk about my damn feelings all day and still...what good would that do? Do you consider it strange that I simply want you to know a few things about me without even expecting you to fix them? Maybe. Definitely. 

I find myself thinking about you in the most random situations. Wondering which books you're currently reading and if they're good (probably not). Thinking of various melodramatic phrases you would choose in response to some of the shit I encounter here all day. Isn't that pathetic? 

They recently tried to “lighten up the place” by hanging a painting in the communal room. It didn’t work of course, and only served as a bizarre juxtaposition to the food stains on the wall. Regardless, I noticed how I couldn’t look away. "Girl, Interrupted at Her Music" by Johannes Vermeer. I felt so much shame in thinking it spoke to me. Do you ever feel like someone interrupted you at your life like this? Looking up to see a stranger coming in? You're not quite ready to believe that it really happened, so you stay there frozen within this particular moment in time.  
Maybe I am the stranger too.

What are you doing to me, you idiot? I am starting to sound like you.

Hux.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**19th of June**

Hux,

You never give me any credit, do you? Of course, I fucking understand! You constantly cross my mind throughout the day. It’s the weirdest thing since there is no face to attach to these thoughts. Only the skinny sad sack of a man I have come to imagine you as. I wonder what kind of grotesque creature I am in your eyes – Probably not even close the horror of actually looking at me. 

Where do you live? I thought it’d be better not to intrude too much, so I never asked. Because: why the fuck would you even tell me? Now I am starting to wonder. Your workplace sounds like a hell hole. I got that you’re not working for your father anymore? Why would he throw you out after all you did for his shitty company? You sounded like you were working yourself to the bone for his sake. I guess parents just suck, generally. Mine let me close to a monster, a preying animal. That’s where all of my troubles started. You might say, that’s where my life was interrupted, before it could even begin. 

We had this neighbour when I was younger. He would always try and talk to me as soon as I could even speak. Couldn’t even go out into the backyard without his looming face over the fence, always watching me. We were friends, he told me. To say this to a friendless child means to let them follow you forever. And that’s what I did. Right into where the ruins of my life would be. _And the rest is rust and stardust._

Ren.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**25th of June**

Ren,

I don’t know what to say. What did this strange man do to you? Are you safe wherever you are? I find it discomforting to know that someone pushed you into whatever situation you’re in right now. I would want to know. Although everything in me knows it’s a bad idea, I want to know everything about you.

I am not ready to tell you where I am, but I can tell you what got me here.  
My father, Brendol, never liked me. He liked a great many things. Food. Alcohol. Profit. Beating me senseless whenever he particularly felt his own inadequacies expressed in me. I grew up wanting to be loved by him, then I learned to fear his gaze. And his words, even before his fists. They always hurt more. I was too skinny, too weak, not fit for survival in a world he worked hard to create. He found out I was gay on a whim. More by rumour, really, because I never dared to come even close to another man. I didn’t even want to admit it myself. I wasn’t like that, I thought. I could live my life like Brendol wanted me to be. However, he found out and so did I. We both realised at the exact same moment that I wasn’t going to be the golden child. He threw me out of the company, and I tumbled into my own series of grave mistakes. I found myself sitting inside of a Bell Jar, separated from everyone else.

It looks like we’re bound together by our fuck ups. It’s like marriage, but honest.

Hux.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**30th of June**

Do you feel imprisoned too?

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**5th of July**

Always.


	2. Chapter 2

**15th of July**

_  
Hux,_

_You’re late. Are you finally slipping up? I hope you realize how much I will enjoy holding you accountable for your tardiness.  
What happened? Don’t tell me you found a boyfriend and won’t make the time for me anymore? I am offended! You better move your skinny ass and write me a heart-warming letter to make up for slacking._

_My day was pretty boring. Some punk wanted to start trouble with me but they never dare to go too far. They’re already pissing themselves if I do as much as blink into their direction. I wonder what you’d say in a situation like this. Come on, Hux. Scold me a little for behaving like a schoolyard bully._

_Ren.  
_

**25th of July**

_  
Hux,_

_This isn’t really like you. Was it something I said? Don’t be an idiot, I am not telling you these things to make you feel sorry for me. It’s not even like you could say or do anything to fix it, so stop acting like I tried to drag you into my shit. You were the one who asked to know every fucking detail about me, didn’t you? And now you’re ignoring my letters like I’m some kind of weirdo?_

_At least have the guts to tell me why._

_Ren._

**1st of August**

_Fuck you, Hux. Honestly._

**2nd of August**

_Hux,_

_look, I need to know what happened to you. I am imagining you dead in a ditch somewhere. You could have died, and I’ll never get to say good bye. No one would come over and inform me, would they? Well, if the program is not keeping me up to date, then writing you another letter won’t change a single thing._

_Please be okay._

_Ren._

**10th of August**

_Hux,_

_come back and talk to me. I am going a little crazy all by myself. It is fine if your only letter is an explanation as to why you don’t want to do this anymore. Is it your father? Did he hire you back into his company and you just don’t want to waste your time? Was I being too ridiculous? I am sorry I told you to fuck yourself. I am sorry I was being a pretentious asshole. I am sorry. Please. Hux._

_Just one last letter. Please._

_Ren._

It was 6.30 when the guard banged against the metal door to his cell. Time to get up, Solo. The fluorescent light from the ceiling burned his eyes, but he didn’t get up yet. There wasn’t enough time to will down the nausea threatening to swallow his heart into his stomach. Fuck, who even cared if he vomited right onto his floor? Aside from the fact that even the thought of having to mob his own sick from the cheap PVC floor was enough to make him gag, there weren’t too many repercussions. 

_Will you pull it together already, Ren?_

Hux would say that, wouldn’t he? He honestly didn’t know but he trusted the little Hux-sounding voice in his head. It wasn’t like he could get any more than that anyway. Ben felt groggy as he staggered to the small bathroom at the far end of his cell. A shadow followed him behind, looming over his shoulder while he splashed his face with cold water. Seemed like that old geezer slipped out of his dreams again, blowing foul breath against his ear. 

His oldest company.

Hux hadn't replied to him. The last thing he heard was how he felt just as imprisoned as him. Yeah, right. No one wanted to tell him what happened to Hux or how to contact him otherwise. Fucking anonymity! Couldn’t the moron have used that same stupid number scheme for his whereabouts, too? It’s not like it would have been easier for him to contact Hux this way, but he could have tried to send a direct letter. Maybe get his phone number, too. 

Ben felt disgusting even thinking about going through all this effort. Like a stalker. Like someone who actually belonged here, among all the other men who couldn’t take no for an answer. He didn’t want to impose. It was just easier than to think about the possibility that Hux decided he wasn’t worth the trouble. Like everyone else did.

And that thought was more comforting than imagining another outcome. A car wreck on its side, wheels still rolling, blood splashed against the cracked front window.

Ben grabbed the edges of his scratched-up metal sink and stared into the mirror. Stop it, he mouthed to his reflection. Stop thinking about him. He’s gone. They’re all gone. It’s been two months since you received any mail at all, and the dozens of follow-up letters only made you look desperate. The mean little man won. You cared more about their relationship than he did –but you knew that before, didn’t you, Ben?

_Do you ever feel like someone interrupted you at your life like this? Looking up to see a stranger coming in? You're not quite ready to believe that it really happened, so you stay there frozen within this particular moment in time._

Hux really carved his words into Ben’s memory. Something to cling to when the nights got lonely. He chewed on them and spit them out, reread the letters and ripped them up just to frantically put them back together a day later. Ben shook his head. You have to be alright. This one time, you’ll have to act like a normal person when someone moves on without you.  
And still, he found himself writing, scratching the words into paper because he had been using this fucking pen for ages. Just another thing he couldn’t let go. As if the memory of connecting to Hux was saved in its empty mine. 

**4th of September**

_Hux,_

_What the fuck is going on. You can’t even manage to say goodbye or tell me why the fuck you decided to drop me like this? What did I do wrong to deserve your scorn? I get that you’re not interested in talking to me anymore, but don’t I deserve a little closure? You told me I was crossing your mind day in and day out. Well, aren’t you a slimy little liar? What should I do with our connection hanging into my room like the loose end of a string? Should I hang myself with it?_

Shit. He stopped writing and threw the paper to the other unfinished letters discarded in a corner of the cell. He not only sounded melodramatic, he sounded outright insane. What right did he have to pressure Hux into talking to him if they hadn’t even ever met? His own parents had no qualms leaving and didn’t they have an obligation to love him? Bullshit. He was being unreasonable, again.

_He is overly emotional, he likes to pity himself and he is way too trusting toward someone he himself deems a ruthless jerk._

Ben threw himself onto the thin mattress and did his best to ignore the dangerous creak of his shoddy bedframe. For a while, he just lay there, listening to the rise and fall of his own breath. The expansion of the tent inside his chest, the steady, monotone beating of his heart. His counsellor wanted to teach him how to properly breathe last month. What kind of insult was that? He had been freaking out about Hux’s letter being late but didn’t want to talk about it. 

So he ended up in the bizarre situation of watching the counsellor slowly break a sweat under the intense gaze of a gigantic, quiet inmate. Even though the sight was amusing as hell, Ben didn’t feel like laughing. He was sick of everyone behaving like he was a ticking time bomb, calling in specialists to snip the right cable without him blowing off. Hux wasn’t like that…He never cared about offending him. No, he actually seemed as if he liked the challenge. Maybe this was, too, just a result of never having to face him at all. Who knows? He surely wouldn’t.

At 7.30 the door clanked open. A guard came in with a metal tray which he dumped on the floor next to the entrance.  
“Still doing nothing all day, Solo?” He sneered. A guard behind him chuckled. Before all of this, Ben would have loved to get back at him, but it felt pointless now. The guard sighed as if Ben not taking his provocation was a huge inconvenience. “Eat up, you have an appointment with your lawyer at eight.”

Ben sat up abruptly. “What?” He blurted out. That was today? “Will my parents be there? Did they speak to her as well?”

Naturally, he wasn’t graced with an answer. The door fell shut again, leaving Ben sitting in silence. He swallowed deeply. He hadn’t thought about her since the phone call last week. It had gone so terribly wrong, he wouldn’t have been surprised had she decided to drop his case altogether. Now she was back, huh?

His eyes fell onto the tray, where a sad looking piece of bread sat next to a single piece of cheese and a juice box without a straw. Maybe there would be another chance to right his wrongs. If she hadn’t abandoned him, even though he completely lost his marbles at her last Thursday, she must believe in his case, must believe he didn’t do it.

He grabbed the juice box with renewed curiosity for the day.

\---------------------------------

After round call, they accompanied him to the visiting room where the fun of constant doubt never ended.

He passed a few inmates at the phone, smiling the first smile of their day. For some it might be the only one. Others wouldn’t be getting good news, maybe they’d be crying themselves to sleep tonight. At least, he thought, trying not to let burning jealousy get the better of him, they would hear about it. 

The guards started to chatter about their weekend, the wife, the kids, the usual bullshit. He wanted to roll his eyes and huff loudly which probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Being on the guard’s good side was an asset not many got to have. Since he’d never be one of them, he’d do better to not worsen their impressions. He wants to do better today, really wants to take the opportunity given to him –this was his last chance. If they didn’t get him out fast, there won’t be anything left of him to free at all.

His lawyer sat at a table at the edge of the visitor’s room. She was wearing a pale lavender suit. Ben felt the contrast starkly. The shapeless beige jumpsuit marked him with a scarlet letter.  
Her smile betrayed that she really didn’t want to be here. As professionally as one could expect from a woman of her calibre, she shook his hand regardless. The prison guards stood careful watch while they sat down across one another.

“Ben.” His name was drowned in a deep sigh, her gaze more on the folder in front of her. Ben could see his own picture staring up at her. Angry, indifferent, hurt. Only he was able to see that last part, though.  
He swallowed as if she had scolded him. “Ms. Holdo.” He managed to choke out. 

Her eyes flickered towards where he was nervously rubbing his knees and Ben just knew that it took quite a bit of willpower to keep her from tutting at him. “I have looked at your statement again over the weekend.”

Ben stayed silent. He supposed that was expected.

“As you can imagine, there are still quite a few holes in your account.” She looked up, just the right way and Ben was struck. Electricity ran through the cord hidden in his spine. Holdo’s expression paralysed him into silence. Why did she have that effect on him?

She cleared her throat, probably wondering why she took the case in the first place. “I need you to tell me what happened. And I need you to be honest with me.”

Ben just stared. He knew his lip was quivering and he knew how ridiculous it looked on a grown man’s face. It began to dawn on him, why he was unable to explain himself. She looked like his mom whenever he had overstepped a line. Stole a cookie, snuck out of bed. Attempted murder, however, wasn’t on that list.

“I told you all I know…” He finally said. His legs started to hurt from all that rubbing. Holdo raised her eyebrows.

“Listen,” she began leaning forward over the small table separating them “I believe you did not try and murder your father. I believe you weren’t the one who sneaked into his garage and severed the break hoses of his car.” 

Her voice was still kind, but it made Ben shiver. He wanted to jump to his feet and scream. Of course, he didn’t do it! He thought about it, yes. How many times had he fantasized about revenge for all the memories they never made? For all the rejection he had to suffer. But did he actually have the strength to do it? No. And knowing it almost happened, made him realise that it wouldn’t have given him any satisfaction either. Thinking Han might die almost broke him. 

Holdo was relentless: “No one else will believe you, Ben. Your parents have admitted to you threatening your father the night before. They saw you reach for a knife. What impression do you think this will give in court, huh?” You had to give it to her, she really knew how to play the motherly card. Ben almost wanted to give her the blubbering confession she so clearly wanted. 

He didn’t break, but his hands clawed at the legs of his jumpsuit. If only his head didn’t hurt from clenching his teeth. The memories of that night were still all too fresh, even if it happened months ago. How would he ever get over this? How would anyone, really?

Holdo stared at him expectantly for a few seconds before her expression hardened. “Alright, then. I see you have nothing to tell me. You can’t explain where you were on the night of the attack. You have no alibi. No explanation for who actually did it.” A sharp inhale “I have to be honest here, Ben. It’s not looking good.”

“I didn’t do it!!”

Ben jumped to his feet without realising. His hands smacked loudly against the table and suddenly he found himself towering over her, eyes wild with desperation. The guards grabbed him by the arms as he struggled against their hold. They were hissing warnings at him, but Ben kept on fixating on Holdo. 

“I didn’t. I wouldn’t fucking try to murder my father! You talked to them! What did they say about me? That I was a ruthless monster? Unrecognizable to them? Did they also tell you what they did, Holdo?”

Amilyn Holdo didn’t bat an eye at his behaviour. There was a sad resignation in her face as if she had come to expect this sort of behaviour from him. “No, Ben.” She sighed “They didn’t tell me you’re a monster.” She calmly got up, mouth a thin line as she grabbed for her coat. Then she turned around to him. The air between them seemed unbreathable. A beat. Another.  
“They’re disappointed in you for not cooperating.”

A punch to the gut would have been easier to bear.

\---------------------------------

The day went by in a haze afterwards. He went to the gym where he overworked his body in hopes of silencing his mind. He took a cold shower but even under the freezing water, his thoughts ran hot. They were disappointed in him? Why would they think it mattered what they thought? When he got arrested, they just stood by, clinging to each other like rocks on a coast. He was simply a boat, drifting off to sea. Not really a part of them anymore. He had wanted to plead with them, fall onto his knees and clutch his mothers’ leg. No, he would never fucking hurt them! He wanted to take his father’s hand tightly fusing their bond into one again. Nothing helped. And, too his shame, he had done nothing as well. 

Fuck, he felt his eyes burning. He couldn’t afford to cry in the communal showers. Other inmates were eyeing him suspiciously already. Solo wasn’t quite right in the head, everyone knew that. He was a chimera: Simultaneously beast and child, fused into one incomprehensible creature.

He didn’t touch his lunch, nor his dinner afterwards. Instead, he lay in bed, counting the cracks in the walls of his prison cell. 

Snoke was still out there, just waiting for his old friend to slip up. Ever since Ben arrived here, he had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was half expecting for someone to corner him in the bathroom one day to hurt him in all the ways Snoke couldn’t any more. It wouldn’t be exactly difficult to convince some of the guards to sneak poison into his food or lead him away to a remote corner of the prison where no one would hear him scream. To make matters worse, Ben knew that Snoke wasn’t above trying to hurt his family again. Maybe he’d sent a shooter for Han who would wait for him to exit the racing track. They could just run his mother over with a car while she was on her way to work.

Even if he somehow managed to overcome his fear and talk about what the frail old man next door had done, who would even believe him? Sure, he had been a child when all of this started, but now he was a wall of a man who could have very easily defended himself from the grabby hands of a senior citizen, right? In addition to making a complete fool out of himself, he would also have to admit that he did threaten his father. Maybe even confess how close he had come to fall for Snoke’s manipulations, to sever the ever so thinning thread connecting him to his blood line. Shit.

He wasn’t strong enough to survive that. The hot shame pooling in his stomach, the stares of people thinking he was making excuses, saying he could have fought back, confirming everything he’d thought of himself already. Please…he just wanted the permission to finally give up. 

\---------------------------------

His dreams were vaguely threatening. Night came in the blink of an eye as it always did. While he walked through the long hallways of an abandoned house, someone outside was screaming in terror. The floorboards creaked underneath his dirty boots and he knew he was minutes away from the whole structure collapsing above him. No need to hurry. Someone was in terrible agony, but Ben didn’t see anything wrong with it. It felt natural. As if he knew where he was going, he opened a door behind which he found a small boat. It was time to go home, he decided and stepped in. How unfortunate that the bombs would be falling soon, hopefully the screaming would be dealt with by then. All the corpses were such a mess, he thought, as he reached for the paddle and began to row. Day came. Then night. And day and night. He watched himself. Unmoving. An enigma inside a boat until the shouting stopped and someone died. Ah…finally.  
He awoke in complete darkness, drenched in sweat, only the noises of a prison at night around him.

The following days, he tried to read, eyes unseeing. There was no connection between him and the wit of Oscar Wilde. He couldn’t feel the horror in Vladimir Nabokov’s twisted descriptions of rape. The hope Dickens wanted to bring seemed dull. The vibrancy of Okorafor’s fantasy landscapes: Grey, grey, grey. All of a sudden he was alone in his mind, shouting like he was standing in an empty hallway, only receiving the echo of his own voice. In a fit of temporary panic, he imagined that this might be how things just were for him now. What if he never learnt to speak the human language again? He wasn’t even worried about the words. But what about the nooks and crannies, the intricacies of a joke well delivered?  
He talked to Holdo on the phone who calmly explained to him that the court appointment had been delayed again. Ben simply nodded, not even realising that she wouldn’t be able to know. His feet were dangling above ground. 

And again, with the writing. The meaningless noise of words never to be read.

**10th of September**

_Mom,_

_I don’t know what to tell you because you never entrusted me with what you might want to hear. I miss you. The days feel long, the nights are over in the blink of an eye. Winnicott once said this is how a child feels when its too small to convey itself with language_

> __  
> I find you;  
>  You survive what I do to you as I come to recognize you as not me;  
>  I use you;  
>  I forget you;  
>  But you remember me;  
>  I keep forgetting you;  
>  I lose you;  
>  I am sad.  
> 

_Is this what it is? Am I stuck in perpetual infancy? A pathetic grown man who can’t leave himself behind? I sometimes feel I stopped growing when I first went into Snoke’s house. I never told you, it was a hot day in August. He seemed friendly enough, letting me sit on his expensive leather couch. He made me a lemonade that day. The ice cubes were melting fast without the air conditioning of our home. I think I liked how he wanted to know things about me. How old I was? Six. Was I all alone at home? Yes, my babysitter couldn’t come today. Poor boy, he said. It stuck with me because it felt right, and I had never heard anyone say it to me before._

_Poor boy, he said a lot. And pathetic. And property. I was all of those things to him at once._  
I didn’t hurt dad but I wanted to. Until I didn’t and then it was too late. Although he survived, he never spoke to me again and even in a letter I won’t send, I cannot bring myself to address him. I hate him with a burning heart while wishing he might still love me just a little bit.  
I- 

Ben stopped writing again. Why was he breathing so hard? 

He frantically rubbed the wetness of his face until his skin burned. Fuck. Fuck it all. Fuck all of this mess and the day he decided to be soft and weak.  
Why couldn’t they just declare him insane to that they’d medicate the feelings out of him?

\---------------------------------

The days went by, melting into each other in a way only possible behind bars. So, when a prison guard unceremoniously thrust a flimsy envelope at him, he froze on the spot. What was he meant to do with this? Was it more bad news? He never sent the letter to his mother, his attorney only talked to him on the phone or in person and…Hux never bothered to contact him again, so he gave up on this little bit of joy, too.

“Move it, Solo.” The guard chastised him, the line for the mail stretching longer by the second.  
He nodded and felt himself walking back to his cell to read the letter in peace.

**18th of September**

_Ren,_

_This is my phone number. I can only be called between 07-12 o’clock._  
555-478-213  
Hux. 

Ben hadn't noticed he was holding his breath until he gasped for air. What? That was impossible. His eyes reread those lines again and again, searching for the mistake which would clear the questions. He turned the paper around, yet it was blank. Was that all? Hux left him hanging but all of a sudden, he felt like actually talking to him?

Ben wasn’t even sure it was a good idea. Hux didn’t know that Ben was in prison and he doubted he was the kind of person to let that slide. He was so prim and proper after all! Maybe he’d faint on the spot like a Victorian heroine. The thought made him roll his eyes, and he smiled despite himself. Maybe, he could add Hux to the list. Maybe they would actually talk. There must be a perfectly logical explanation for him not contacting him sooner, right?

Ren felt torn between shivering excitement and a stubborn sort of wrath sitting behind his ribs. He took a piece of paper and a pen in hand.

**25th of September**

_Hux,_

_Look what the cat dragged in! I never thought I would see your sorry ass in my mailbox again. Why did you change your mind? Could you at least bother to explain what happened or am I not good enough for that?_

_I have to add you to a list, to be able to call you and that might take a while. So, if you’re not actually planning on going through with it, or if you mean to only say good bye, you shouldn’t have bothered. It’s too much of a hassle._

_So maybe you could pass the time by answering one single question, Hux:_  
What the fuck?  
I thought you were dead. I wondered if I said something wrong. You can’t just swoop in here and expect me to wet myself like some excited puppy! I thought you were better than that, even though I shouldn’t have. 

_Ren._

_Ps. I am glad you are not dead._

Ben thought that would be the end of that. He was ready to move on and lick his wounds, wallow in self-pity some more before he’d be locked away for ever. Yet, like with that first, rude letter he sent to Hux, he was surprised to see a reply find its way into his cell:

**29th of September**

_Ren,_  
Even though I do not appreciate your attitude, I know why I might deserve it. I don’t know how to properly explain, and I wished you wouldn’t press me to share sensitive information like this.  
Especially after ominously stating you would have to add me to a list in order to be able to call. It seems suspicious. What else is new? 

_Hux._

Ben read the letter three times before putting it down to pace among the walls of his prison cell like Blake’s proverbial tiger. It wasn’t exactly that he didn’t trust Hux with knowing his whereabouts. There was precious little he could do to harm him in here and Ben wanted to reserve his paranoia for someone who actually wanted him gone. 

He shook his head. No. Snoke could not invade his thoughts about Hux as well. He wouldn’t give up on the one place unsullied by his presence.

**3rd of October**

_Hux,  
I am in prison. They are searching my letters so I can’t tell you much about the why and how. The only thing I can assure you of, is that I didn’t do it. _

_There. Now you know. If you want to leave me now, fine._

_The nights are shitty and lonely. Although it is cold as fuck in my cell, I have nothing but a flimsy blanket to keep myself warm. The food tastes like literal cow shit. None of my family members believe in my innocence, either, so you’d be the only one I could complain to. Given that you’re not going to fuck off again after this._

_I’ve been awaiting trial for months now, but it’s always getting postponed. Do you think they’re planning on letting me disappear like that? Forgotten in this awful place forever? Who needs a trial, right? If your own parents believe you did it, what use is there for a lawyer to defend your case?  
I just don’t know. Hux. Please._

_Ren._

\---------------------------------

Ben despised how needy he felt after that. It was almost impossible to catch himself. Falling forever into the unknown abyss of opening up to someone who could hurt you. He had always been bad at trust exercises, even before Snoke locked his mind into a stuffy living room on a hot august day. Maybe he wanted to be disappointed, just so he could continue to pretend that none of this was his fault. Maybe, he thought, as he returned to the post station for the fourth time that week.

“Solo, there are still no letters. Get the fuck away from here or we’ll write you up for annoying the shit out of us.”

He grumbled. If someone had spoken to him like that outside, they surely would have ended up in the parking lot behind a bar, nose bloody. Isn’t this what got him here in the first place? Why did he always feel so exposed that the slighted word, the most irrelevant side glance tipped him off balance? Shit.  
On day eight, the letter came.

**7th of October**

_Ren,_

_Hurry up and put me on that list already._

_I don’t care about the harsh facts of prison life. I want to speak to you, directly, to tell you some of the things you apparently need to hear. But since you insist on being thick, I am going to spell them out for you.  
I believe you._

_I am sorry this is happening._  
I am sorry I can’t help you.  
I am not intending to leave you behind.  
Is that good enough for you? Although I can’t tell you why I ceased to write, it had nothing to do with you or your – sometimes less than proper- conduct. 

_Hux._

_Ps. I am aware that you can’t share any details with me, but I wonder why you are so sure that they have all the necessary evidence against you._

Ben stared at the letter for an embarrassing amount of time. It was impossible to comprehend the blurry words in front of his eyes. Why would anyone want to be close to him when all he ever did was ooze poison into the lives of others? Only when tears dripped down onto the paper, was he able to pull away and save the ink from dissolving. 

Ben sniffed, then rubbed his eyes roughly. Fuck. He wanted to see Hux. He didn’t care that he probably was an eighty-two years old predator. He craved to know the colour of his eyes, the structure of his hair, the shape of his wiry body, bending down to lean over a letter, too kind, despite himself.

**11th of October**

_Hux,_

_I don’t know if you expect me to throw a parade for your generosity. I am eternally grateful you’re not getting rid of me after knowing that I am not perfect._

He paused, staring at his slanted writing. His heart threatened to overflow so he decided to open the gates.

_The truth is, I am. Sincerely grateful, that is. Thank you for standing by me, for whatever that means. I can’t save myself and I realise now that you cannot do that either._

_The man who committed the crime I'm accused of…he hurt me. It is the person I talked to you about. To most, he’ll look like just another fragile old man…What chances do I have to convince the jury, my parents, anyone, that he could force me to do whatever he wanted? I dream of him…Even telling you about this is nauseating…Would you laugh at me if I told you I am trying hard to not vomit on the floor of my cell?  
I am scared. They will judge me, Hux. I can’t stand the thought of being laughed at. Not for this…Never for this. What will I do if he wants revenge? Will he hurt my family again?_

_The strangest feeling is missing you, whom I have never met._

_Ren._

\---------------------------------

After sending the letter, Ben didn’t know to do anything but sleep. Day in and day out, to forget what he said. All too often he just found himself wondering about the moment Hux would open the letter. He wouldn’t understand. Hux was such a pragmatic person. He’d be judged in one way or another, after all.

To make matters worse, Ms. Holdo called the next morning. He was alone in the hallway, clinging to the phone for dear life. It was surreal. Like a video game, not fully loaded. Like the moment when you rewind a tape and watch people move in unnatural ways. 

“I got a phone call this morning, Ben. The new court date is the 15th of December. I hope you realise the gravity of the situation you are in. There is no way around it anymore, you have to start being a little more honest with me.” Her voice sounded tired. She was done with his antics and Ben couldn’t even blame her. 

He nodded like the dumb child he was.

“Do you understand me, Ben?” With some force.

“Yes, Ma’am.” His voice strained to choke the words out. His arms felt numb and useless.

“I am going to see you on Thursday to discuss further strategies.”

“Yes.”

“Will you be able to tell me something I don’t know by then?”

A pause. His heart was suddenly determined to claw its way out, up his throat, through his mouth.

“I don’t know.”

A deep sigh. The disappointment burned him.

“I will see you then, Ben.” Click. And he was alone again. 

\---------------------------------

**16th of October**

_Ren,_

_No one can save you, but yourself._

_Some idiot with a diploma is currently being paid for telling me that we shape our thoughts and the world around us. I think he is an absolute hack who should be arrested at once, but he might be correct pertaining you. You cannot let him control your life like this. You’d just ensure that he’ll be getting away with it…Don’t you feel the need for revenge?_

_I know you are an emotional person, so I won’t appeal to your logic. I will appeal to what I think motivates you best: If you get out of there, you will have proven them wrong. They were wrong to lock you away, to doubt your integrity and cast you aside like you were nothing. Wouldn’t it feel nice to look at their regretful faces after hurting you for so long?_

_If you’re able to get out, maybe we’ll have a chance to meet one day._

_Hux._

**20th of October**

_Hux,_

_My lawyer was here today. I told her I have nothing more to say. Her gaze was so sharp that it made me cry. I literally started to cry. Not only in front of this stranger who deep down believes I am a criminal bastard, but in front of all the other visitors and inmates around me. She was not even taken aback by my behaviour. I suppose she’d come to expect me to be unstable and erratic. I know why I am like this. And somehow, I want them to understand, too. But I can’t, Hux. You make it sound so easy to just go out there and return triumphantly. Have you never felt helplessly devoted to someone who did nothing but punish you for it?_

_I don’t want my parents to hurt. Sometimes I think I do. And then I look into their eyes and I want nothing more than to dissolve into nothingness as to not inconvenience them anymore. I am paralyzed.  
I want to see you. I want to be able to touch you. No matter if it is a hug, a kiss, holding hands. This sounds fucking creepy, please tell me off if this is too much for you. Maybe being alone for so long has distorted my sense of what is acceptable._

_If I have ever had it in the first place._

_Ren._

**24th of October**

_Ren,_

_Then stop crying!_

_I know what it feels like. I told you about my father. I didn’t expect you to have short term memory loss. Is that also due to your loneliness or is it because you’re just a self-centred asshole?  
Your advances do not creep me out. I want to see and touch you too, but all of these sentiments ring hollow if you’re not willing to do anything to make them come true. We will never know if we can actually stand each other, if you don’t get out of this fucking prison. You have to stop being fearful, for your own sake. And for mine._

_I never did anything to help myself either. I can assure you it didn’t turn out well for me. I am the most unhappy I have ever been. I feel like a fucking failure. I wanted to die, Ren. I was floating all alone towards a future I have long determined to be non-existent. Talking to you made me realise that not all connection to this world must necessarily be lost…That maybe I can recover my sense of humanity._

_You aren’t the hero of an antique tragedy. You’re not doomed. I know you’re a mess of a person, but I am willing to see if it will work out. Whatever it is that we are talking about._

_This is not something I can do alone. If you stop fighting, there is no point in me trying all by myself. I will get better at living if you do so as well.  
Ren. Snap out of it and start fighting._

_Hux._

\---------------------------------

Ben stared at the ceiling all night. His chest felt like it was full of bees. In the morning his legs carried him to the phone. The floor was moving. Everything was spinning. He was going to fall. He was going to die. Breathe, Ben. Breathe.

Start fighting.

“Amilyn Holdo?”

“Ms. Holdo…I have something new to tell you…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This boy has clearly never been to prison before.


End file.
